Thursday, September 29, 2016

Since I’m a native New Yorker, many of my favorite travel
spots are right within the state’s borders. Naturally, I set many of my books
in the various places I’ve enjoyed since I was a child. Hearts Unloched, my New York Book Festival winner, is a romantic
suspense set in the tiny burgh of Loch Sheldrake, N.Y., near where my husband
grew up. A Taming Season is the first
of my Love at Lake George Novels, set in the upstate village of the same name.
I’ve vacationed on Lake George all my life, so there wasn’t any better place to
set a series of loosely related romantic novels—there simply is no better place
to fall in love.

My new release, out today, is The Phoenix Syndrome. Although the story begins in Boston, it
follows Lannie Marvin as she chases after her son’s favorite band, Dreamwish,
who are giving a benefit concert at the site of the 1969 Woodstock Festival in
Bethel, N.Y. This is a very rural but absolutely breathtaking part of the
country, and a place we still visit often. The serenity of the mountains and
simplicity of the small towns make upstate New York the ideal romantic
destination.

The Phoenix Syndrome—contemporary romance/women’s fiction

Research technician Lannie Marvin has a very rough birthday.
Turning forty is bad enough, but she discovers her husband is leaving her,
& then is bitten by an experimental mouse at work. Lannie snaps, taking off
to chase her old dream of a music career & her new crush: the drummer of a
heavy metal band.

Tristan Allard holds a benefit every year for his late wife,
who was also his muse. He's beginning to have doubts about his ability to write
the band's music. Plus, he's damn lonely. So when Lannie nearly plows him down
at the backstage reception, he's ready to learn more about her--and her
long-abandoned dream of music composition.

But reality soon bites back, invading their blissful weekend
fling. Tristan is headed back to his home base in the UK. And Lannie discovers,
to her horror, that the experimental mice have gone deaf.

But then there was the drummer. If
not for the overhead monitors panning in for close-ups during the performance,
I might never have known he existed. What a travesty that would have been.

In a word, he was . . .
magnificent. He sat like a king on his throne at the elevated rear of the
stage, sparkling silver-flake drums surrounding him like loyal minions. The
monitor directly over our seats focused on him often, so close and so clear I
could see the sweat glistening on sculpted upper arms, bare beneath a black
muscle shirt stretched taut across a broad chest. Some sort of ink crawled over
one bicep. A black-and-white paisley bandanna covered most of his head, but
long, dark curls framed his face and clung damp against his neck. His facial
hair, limited to a sparse mustache and goatee, was chocolate brown. I indulged
in the fantasy that his eyes were that same sweet, smoldering color.

His passion for his work was
palpable. Hands flying, head bobbing, he was completely engrossed, as if the
music were a drug he was tripping on. His hooded eyes gave him the look of a
sleepy lover, but when he did open them, I could swear he was gazing directly
at me.

Looking back on that night, I
can’t be sure how long we’d sat there before I fixated on my drummer boy. The
music, which at first grated on my senses as way too loud and completely
discordant, gradually began to permeate my brain. Before long, my bare toes
started tapping against the carpeted floor. I freed one hand from my cup of
wine to pat my thigh in time with the music. When my head began to bob, almost
of its own accord, I smiled.

Ah, now I know why they call
progressive metal fans head bangers.

We were climbing into my brother’s
SUV, Paul at the wheel with Jeri and Jay next to him in the front. I sat
squashed between my husband and son in the back.

“So, what did you guys do for all
that time?” Ryan asked.

“We saw Dreamwish,” Paul piped up
from the front, sounding as though his statement actually made sense.

“You saw our concert? You guys?”
Jay sputtered through his laughter.

I opened my eyes to find my son
staring at me in much the same way Jeri had been earlier.

“How’d you like it, Mom?” Ryan
asked in a slight singsong of ridicule, which I chose to ignore.

I caught my brother watching me in
the rearview mirror. He was wearing an impish grin. “It’s true, Ryan,” he said.
“For a while there, we were afraid your mother might run off with one of the
roadies.”

“To hell with the roadies,” I
snapped. “If I run off, it will definitely be with the yummy drummer.”

Claire Gen writes
intensely emotional romantic novels. Her vision is to transport her readers
into another place and time, creating characters so real, readers miss them
when they reach The End. Her heroes are hot, & her heroines strong and brave:
a combination producing the spark to fan the flames of your most intense
romantic fantasies. Claire's characters are human, just like you & me. They
make mistakes, they get clumsy sometimes, & they're not too proud to laugh
at themselves & each other.

The keyword here is EMOTION. Big on the *Sigh* factor, Claire's stories aim to
hit you straight in the heart and leave you smiling through happy tears.

She writes in two genres: romance w/a ghostly twist, and sexy contemporary.
Claire's books are like a thrill ride at a theme park. Whether it's
spooky-scary, angst-ridden relationships filled with gut-wrenching turmoil,
silly chuckle moments, or hot-flash-inducing sex, Claire guarantees to take you
on an emotionally intense romantic journey.

In March of 2011 I started jogging. Despite the occasional
illness, injury, and ‘I don’t wanna,’ I’m still getting out regularly. On one
long and rather tedious solo run, I started making connections between jogging
and writing and life.

Get Some Running Buddies

It helps to have inspiration. I started jogging with a Couch to 5K group that met twice a week. Having
the regular schedule kept us on track. The program helped us pace ourselves,
starting with short runs and frequent walks, and working up to a 45 minute run.
We also had an experienced leader to offer advice.

A retreat is a great place to critique – and maybe get some exercise!

Several of us continued running together after the program ended.
I wouldn’t get out there as often if people weren’t waiting for me. I’d be
tempted to stop early, if I didn’t have the encouragement of the group. Hey,
peer pressure is powerful! You might as well make it work for you. Plus, it’s more
fun to run with other people.

For writers, it’s important to find the right peer group for
your needs. For many, this is a critique group. They may be large or small,
meet in person or online, have open or closed membership, get together weekly
or monthly or as needed. Finding a group that suits your needs is invaluable.

Other writers share goals and deadlines, checking in with a
friend daily or weekly to report progress. There’s that peer pressure again!
Even a non-writing friend can help hold you accountable. (But choose carefully. You don't need someone pressuring you to finish your novel in six months or run a seven-minute mile.)

Finally, social groups can provide camaraderie and
networking. I live in a small town with a science and engineering college; I
know far more computer geeks than writers. But by making monthly trips to
Albuquerque to attend a writing meeting, I’ve made many friends who understand
what I do. I’ve also made connections by teaching workshops and guest speaking
for groups like Sisters in Crime. For those who can’t attend in person, online
discussion boards, listserves, and online classes offer information and a sense of connection. (Women on Writing offers many online classes. I’ll be
teaching You
Can Write Stories for Children starting October 17 and Advanced
Plotting: Keep Those Pages Turning starting January 9, 2017.)

It’s Distance, Not Speed

It really is about the journey, not how fast you get there.
Pace yourself, and enjoy the journey, or you might burn out along the way. If
you can see the end, or at least imagine the cheering crowds and free food, it
might give you the extra boost you need to keep going. But take time to enjoy
the sights, and the experience will be a lot more fun.

As a writer, don’t focus so much on the response to your
query letters. Sure, celebrate successes, and try to learn from
disappointments, but put most of your energy into enjoying the journey. (That
works for the rest of life, too.)

New Mexico is a great place for outdoor activities

But Keep Moving

A slow pace may get you there, but if you have a long way to
go, you might as well do it running. A marathon will take a lot longer at a
stroll than at a jog, even a slow jog. Run when you can, walk when you need a
rest, but keep moving. That’s the only way to reach the end.

Take the time you need to learn and practice your writing
craft. Do as many drafts as you need to polish your novel. Don’t rush, but do
keep working. Write a page a day, and you’ll have a complete draft in a year.
It may not be perfect, but it will be more than what you started with.

Practice Makes Perfect, or At Least Lessens the Pain

If you’re training, you need to get out regularly. Running
once a month will just leave you sore and frustrated each time, and you won’t
see any progress in your fitness.

It’s the same with writing. Establishing habits and sticking
to them will keep your mind fit. Writing several times a week will hone your
skills and make it easier to get started next time.

Easiest isn't always best.

Beware of Shortcuts

If I map out a 5K run, but take every shortcut, that could
cut the distance down to 3 ½K. Easier, sure, but that won’t prepare me for
running a 10K. It’s the same with life. Whether you’re trying to switch
careers, meet the right partner, or finish a novel, some shortcuts may
help, but others may do more harm than good.

I work with a lot of writing students. The beginners want to
know if they’ll get published after taking one course. Nobody wants to spend 10
years learning how to write, but you need to do the work in order to earn the
reward at the end. If you beg your friend to send your rough draft to her
editor, you’ll blow your chance to make the best use of that connection. If you
self publish your work before it’s ready, you’ll waste time that could be
better spent working on your craft.

Sometimes the long, hard path is the only one that gets you
where you want to go.

A new location can provide inspiration

Push Yourself Sometimes

With enough practice, you should get better. When I started
jogging, it was a struggle to go for 10 minutes without a break. Six months
later, I could make it through 45 minutes without stopping.

And then I plateaued. Jogging had become comfortable, if not
easy. Why cause more pain by trying to go farther or faster?

Because that’s the only way to
get better. And most likely, it’s the only way to stay interested. Fortunately,
one of my jogging partners is great about coming up with new workouts. We add
in some sprints one day, do hills another day. We choose different routes on
different terrains. Variety keeps it interesting, which makes it easier to work
hard.

With my writing, I find that I get bored if I become too
comfortable with something. After publishing a dozen children’s books as Chris Eboch, I wanted a change. I started writing romantic suspense for adults, using the name Kris Bock. This brought new challenges –
writing books two or three times as long as what I was used to, exploring
romantic subplots, delving deeper into character. I didn’t always get things
right the first time, but I became a better writer – and I renewed my interest
in writing.

Kris
Bock writes novels of suspense and romance with outdoor adventures and
Southwestern landscapes. The Mad Monk’s
Treasure follows the hunt for a long-lost treasure in the New Mexico
desert. In The Dead Man’s Treasure,
estranged relatives compete to reach a buried treasure by following a series of
complex clues. In The Skeleton Canyon
Treasure, sparks fly when reader favorites Camie and Tiger help a
mysterious man track down his missing uncle. Whispers in the Dark features archaeology and intrigue among ancient
Southwest ruins. What We Found is a
mystery with strong romantic elements about a young woman who finds a murder
victim in the woods. In Counterfeits,
stolen Rembrandt paintings bring danger to a small New Mexico town. Read excerpts at www.krisbock.com or visit her Amazon page.

Chris Eboch writes fiction and nonfiction for all ages, with 40+ published books for children. Her novels for ages nine and up
include Bandits Peak, a survival
thriller that will appeal to fans of Gary Paulsen’s Hatchet; The Genie’s Gift,
a fantasy adventure drawing on the Arabian
Nights stories; The Eyes of Pharaoh,
a mystery that brings ancient Egypt to life; The Well of Sacrifice, an action-packed drama set in ninth-century
Mayan Guatemala; and the spooky-fun Haunted series, which starts with The Ghost on the Stairs. Chris's book Advanced Plotting helps writers
fine-tune their plots, while You Can
Write for Children: How to Write Great Stories, Articles, and Books for Kids
and Teenagers offers great insight to beginning and intermediate writers. Learn
more at www.chriseboch.com or her Amazon page, or
check out her writing tips at her Write
Like a Pro! blog.

Friday, September 23, 2016

My romantic suspense novel, What We Found, is currently free on Amazon.

Finding a dead body changes a person.

22-year-old Audra Needham is
back in her small New Mexico hometown. She just wants to fit in, work
hard, and help her younger brother. Going for a walk in the woods with her
former crush, Jay, seems like a harmless distraction.

Until they stumble on a body.

Jay, who has secrets of his
own to protect, insists they walk away and keep quiet. But Audra can't simply
forget what she's seen. The woman deserves to be found, and her story deserves
to be told.

More than one person isn't
happy about Audra bringing a crime to life. The dead woman was murdered, and Audra
could be next on the vengeful killer's list. She’ll have to stand up for
herself in order to stand up for the murder victim. It’s a risk, and so is
reaching out to the mysterious young man who works with deadly birds of prey. With
her 12-year-old brother determined to play detective, and romance budding in
the last place she expected, Audra learns that some risks are worth taking – no
matter the danger, to her body or her heart.

“Another action-packed suspense novel by Kris Bock, perhaps
her best to-date. The author weaves an intriguing tale with appealing
characters. Watching Audra, the main character, evolve into an
emotionally-mature and independent young woman is gratifying.” Reader Ellen R.

"This book had me guessing to the end
who was the murderer. Well written characters drive the story. Good romance.
Exceptional and believable plot twists and turns. I loved it! I recommend this
book highly." Reader Suzanne B.

"This is a nonstop suspense. Love the
characters and how real they seem with every episode played out. This is a love
story and suspense all in one." Reader Pam

And yet I kept walking, following
Jay through the woods. I stepped carefully along the narrow path, but my good
shoes would be dusty by the time we were done. My gaze flicked up to Jay’s long
legs in faded jeans. His butt had been voted the best in our high school. It
wasn’t the only reason I’d had a crush on him as a sophomore, but it definitely
played a part.

Six years later, it was hard to
believe I was really walking through the woods with him. Though we’d grown up
together in a town of only 8,000 people, we’d rarely spoken. He was two grades
ahead of me, but even if we’d been in the same year, I wouldn’t have traveled
in his circles. I’d seen him around school or at the pizza parlor, I’d watched
his basketball games, I’d felt sorry for him when I heard his dreams of playing
college ball fell through.

Since I’d graduated, I’d only
seen him around town when I came back to visit. We might smile and say “Hey” as
we passed, the way acquaintances did. Yet a week after I’d moved back home, I
was taking a long lunch to follow Jay into the woods. I felt like a giddy high
school girl again.

I had to remind myself that I was
twenty-two, an adult, with a brand-new college degree—with honors. I’d worked
hard to get the Hospitality Degree that had landed me one of the few good jobs
in the only place in town worth working. I’d come back to my hometown for my
new job at the Mountain Inn and Resort and for my brother, not for Jay. And I
was old enough to realize that we probably didn’t have much in common.

But when my high school crush
noticed me for the first time and offered to show me the view from the plateau,
how could I resist? I didn’t expect to start a beautiful relationship, but it
was nice to imagine I’d turned into the type of woman who could attract a cool
guy’s attention.

My heart was beating a little too
quickly and I had to wipe my palms on my slacks. Despite the leafy shade, the
air hung heavy and hot, the first really warm day of the year. It had hit 87
down in Albuquerque
the day I moved, but summer came later in the central New Mexico mountains, at an elevation of
almost 7,000 feet.

We entered a small clearing.
Sunlight broke through the trees, dappling the long yellow grass. It was nice
to be back in the mountains, back in these woods where I’d walked so often,
after four years in a big city. I’d missed the green.

A bird rustled nearby. Jay turned
and smiled at me. I smiled back, but my face felt stiff as I remembered his
reputation with girls. At the time I’d envied those girls, with all the naïveté
of a shy teenager who never got asked to go for walks in the woods with boys.
Now I wasn’t sure what to do with myself. He’d said he wanted to show me the
view and point out the changes since I’d been gone. But in high school, a “walk
in the woods” wasn’t about the scenery.

I was being silly. We’d grown up
since then. And we hardly had time to get into trouble. He couldn’t possibly
assume we were sneaking out for a quickie after chatting for half an hour in
the employee lunchroom. I’d told him I only had a few minutes.

“Come on, let’s go through here.”
He pushed into the trees to the side of the clearing, rather than going forward
on the established path that looped around the plateau and eventually back
toward the resort. The view should be straight ahead.

I glanced back down the path, but
the bright green of the golf course had disappeared around a bend. Still, we
were just a few minutes from work. Maybe he knew another path, a smaller game
trail.

It was easier to go along than to
ask questions. If he had something more in mind than admiring the view, I could
stop him later. But no need to cause a fuss yet.

A minute later he stopped in a
smaller clearing, where a fallen log had cleared a space among the other trees.
A nearby bank sloped down to a ditch that might carry a trickle of water later
in the season, after the rains. I kept my smile in place and waited to see what
he would do.

He swung toward me and reached
out with one hand. I jerked back. My arm bumped against a tree and I felt the
bark catch my sleeve. I looked down to free it, my face hot.

“Nervous?” Jay asked with a smile
in his voice.

I shrugged and avoided his gaze.
“You startled me.”

“Ah, sweet little Audra. Not so
little anymore, and surely not so innocent?” He brushed his fingers over my
hair where it draped over my shoulder just above my breast. I tensed but
couldn’t move back without hitting trees.

He reached in his pocket and
pulled out a small plastic baggie. He unrolled it and pulled out a handmade
cigarette—probably a joint. Some of the other rumors about him came back,
rumors I’d forgotten. He grinned the cocky basketball-star smile that had
melted so many hearts, but it didn’t look quite the same now. For the first
time I noticed the hollows under his eyes and the faint lines on his weathered
skin. Could he really be just twenty-five? Had we all aged so much? Or had the
years been harder on him?

He did work outside, which could
account for some of the weathering. I was glad I always used moisturizer with
sunscreen.

He lit up, took a puff, and held
out the joint. I shook my head and struggled to keep a polite half-smile in
place. He frowned and kept his arm extended. “Come on, you need to loosen up.”

My hand twitched, as if it wanted
to follow his command of its own accord. I hated conflict. But I didn’t do
drugs, and I wasn’t about to start. If I got fired from my job in the first
week, I’d have a hard time finding anything else in town. I’d been away for
four years, only visiting once a month, and I wasn’t about to make Ricky deal
with Mom on his own any longer.

“Thanks, but no. I, uh, have some
mild asthma and smoke makes me cough.” I’d found excuses like that more
effective than a simple no thanks, which could lead to derision and pressure.

He shrugged and turned away,
taking another puff. The smoke drifted toward me, confirming that this was no
ordinary cigarette. I edged toward the ditch bank to get away from the smell.
As an excuse for backing away, I leaned over to sniff the clusters of yellow
blossoms on a gangly wildflower.

I almost gagged.

Could that stench really be
coming from those pretty little flowers? I straightened, trying to breathe
shallowly through my mouth and hide my disgust so Jay wouldn’t think I was
disapproving of him.

Once I’d noticed it, the smell
seemed strong all around me. Jay sat on the log and smoked. I paced the small
open space, trying not to gag. It smelled of garbage, something rotten,
decaying, dead. I wanted to get out of there. I wanted to turn back and run
through the woods, back to my small office where I could focus on my work. This
was a mistake. I’d never belonged with Jay and never would.

When he stood, I jumped up too.
But instead of heading back for the main path, he walked closer to the ditch.
It figured, a man notices something dead and instead of getting away from it he
wants to poke around closer. I sighed.

Jay sniffed and then made a face.
He pushed past a low-hanging branch and took a couple of steps down the ditch
bank. I guess I have my share of morbid curiosity, because I edged closer.

Jay made a choking sound. He
stumbled backward, turned, and bumped me hard as he pushed past.

“What is it?” I demanded.

He leaned over the log, hands on
his thighs, taking deep breaths. I looked toward the ditch, then back at Jay.
What could have caused this reaction? Something dead, but larger and grosser
than he’d imagined? I pictured a deer with maggots crawling all over it.

I shuddered. Whatever it was, I
didn’t want to see it.

“Jay? Are you all right?”

He straightened, still breathing
heavily. “We have to get out of here. It’s a body. I think—I think it’s a
body.”

He didn’t answer. I glanced
toward the ditch and whatever it hid. “Are you sure?”

He shook his head. His skin
looked gray, and his eyes seemed to stare at something no longer there. He
lifted a hand and curled it into a fist over his chest. “There was … a hand.”

I swallowed hard and pressed my
arm over my stomach. “We need to call someone.” But if we reported a body and
it turned out to be an animal, we’d look like fools. “We have to know for
sure.”

Jay made no move. I said again,
“We have to know.”

I walked slowly toward the ditch.
I ducked under the branch. The smell rose up to gag me and I put a hand over my
nose and mouth. My face turned away, refusing to see. I had to force myself to
turn my head, to keep my eyes squinted open.

Oh God. It was a body. A woman’s
body.

The smell choked me and my vision
blurred. Behind me, I heard Jay’s harsh breathing. I should have listened to my
instincts.

I shouldn’t be here.

Kris Bock writes novels of suspense and romance involving
outdoor adventures and Southwestern landscapes. In Counterfeits, stolen Rembrandt paintings bring danger to a small
New Mexico town. Whispers in the Dark
features archaeology and intrigue among ancient Southwest ruins. What We Found is a mystery with strong
romantic elements about a young woman who finds a murder victim in the woods. The Mad Monk’s Treasure follows the hunt
for a long-lost treasure in the New Mexico desert. In The Dead Man’s Treasure, estranged relatives compete to reach a
buried treasure by following a series of complex clues. Read excerpts at www.krisbock.com or visit her Amazon page.

Sunday, September 4, 2016

In honor of the Labor Day holiday, here's a brief History of Labor Day:

People today may complain about how hard they work. Kids may
not look forward to going back to school in the fall. But in earlier years, most
people worked 10 or 12 hour days – every single day of the week. Children as
young as six or seven worked these hours at dangerous jobs in factories and
mines. All family members worked for pennies, struggling to earn enough for
food and shelter, while business owners got rich.

Is it any wonder that working people began demanding more
rights? In the 1800s, workers started banding together to complain. They formed
labor unions, groups to fight for more workers’ rights. These groups held
rallies and went on strike, demanding higher pay and better conditions.

The government got involved, but sided with employers,
claiming that labor unions interfered with free trade. In 1872 in Canada, the
Toronto Typographical Union went on
strike to demand a nine hour workday. Twenty four union leaders were put in
prison.

Soon after, the Toronto Trades Assembly of Canada organized
a “working man’s demonstration” to call for the abolition of the law that
declared trade unions “criminal conspiracies in restraint of trade.” A few
months later, seven Ottawa
unions staged a parade a mile long. Soon after these dramatic demonstrations,
the Canadian Parliament repealed the laws against trade unions.

Public demonstrations saluting labor continued. Some were
more of a celebration than a demand for change. On July 22, 1872, some 3000 to 4000 workers from
23 unions marched in front of about 50,000 spectators in Toronto. The parade featured military and
civilian bands, floats and banners.

Credit for suggesting a Labor Day holiday dedicated to
American workers usually goes to Peter J. Maguire, founder of the United Brotherhood
of Carpenters and Joiners. On September
5, 1882, 10,000 marchers joined the first New York City Labor Day
parade.

Oregon
was the first state to make Labor Day a legal holiday. Many other states
followed, choosing different dates for the celebration. President Grover
Cleveland declared Labor Day a national holiday in 1894, a tradition that
continues today.

Labor unions still faced severe challenges. Many employers
refused to negotiate with labor unions, and broke up strikes with violence. The
government generally backed the employers. Most people saw business leaders as the
nation’s leaders, and supported them in disputes against labor unions. Union
activists were seen as radical and dangerous.

The Depression changed the country’s attitude. Business
owners could not stop the Depression, so people started to see the average
worker as important to the economy. In the 1930s, the United States
government began passing more laws that were favorable to workers and labor unions. Labor Day – the one day
each year especially set aside to honor working men and women – finally had its
proper place and meaning in America.

This is a condensed version of an article I wrote that was
originally published in Coal People
Magazine, a union publication.

Photos via the Digital Public Library
of America: Military band marching in the Labor Day parade. Hall County, Georgia historical photograph
collection, Hall County Library System.

Kris
Bock writes novels of suspense and romance involving outdoor adventures and
Southwestern landscapes. In Counterfeits,
stolen Rembrandt paintings bring danger to a small New Mexico town. Whispers in the Dark features
archaeology and intrigue among ancient Southwest ruins. What We Found is a mystery with strong romantic elements about a
young woman who finds a murder victim in the woods. The Mad Monk’s Treasure follows the hunt for a long-lost treasure
in the New Mexico desert. In The Dead
Man’s Treasure, estranged relatives compete to reach a buried treasure by
following a series of complex clues. Read
excerpts at www.krisbock.com or visit her
Amazon page.